


Live Again

by Sanctioned_Chaos



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Because I need more of that, But in a Uke sort of way, He's not dead, He's too pretty to dominate, I just said that, Jon is mentioned, Jon/Robb comes in later, Multi, NOT a one-Shot, Or Is he?, Robb is sexy, Stark siblings are mentioned, Tag more as I go along, You'll Have to Read to Find Out - Freeform, revival, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6879982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctioned_Chaos/pseuds/Sanctioned_Chaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb Stark survives the treachery of the Freys at the Twins. Okay, so he doesn't survive it, but he does come back from death. It's a whole new experience, one of the many he's going to have to undergo if he wants to win the war. Only this time, he's fighting on a different sort of battlefield. </p><p>*Will eventually include Robb learning how to be seductive in front of the same gender, if you know what I mean. No, he will not whore himself out, but I mean, he's too pretty to not be dangerous when he puts said looks to proper use. Basically, this is Robb learning how to use his body in ways that, well, are certainly interesting to others, and this is also him learning(really learning) how to trick, and obtain secrets and information from people. He's learning the Politics of Westeros, to put it in another way.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I've really been wanting to write, and my head is brimming with ideas and scenarios, fun for us but maybe not for Robb, that will (hopefully) get to occur in this fic. Not really much more to say except the disclaimer. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The author owns no characters or countries/kingdoms mentioned in this work of FICTION. She receives no monetary profit whatsoever, only the profit of having it out there for people to see and, possibly, enjoy.

Robb is a mess when he returns from the dead. 

 

He’s sure he’s  _ returning _ from it because he very clearly remembers his death. And his mother’s. And Talisa’s. And the baby’s. 

 

He nearly sobs as the memories hit him, but then suddenly there’s a voice and a woman- she’s small and petite with brunette hair and pale skin- a woman who pulls and whispers hurriedly to him. 

 

“We must be quick Lord Stark, before the men see you.” 

 

She gives him a shawl, a dark green one, and tells him to hunch over. 

 

“This way they think I’m escorting a crone.” She says. 

 

“They’ll ask less questions that way.” She says. 

 

That’s when he notices the clothes he's wearing. Robb no longer dons what he wore when he felt his life retreat away from him, instead clothed in almost-rags. He’s confused and everything is a blur of grays walls, firelight from passing torches, and bodies of soldiers as they rush through the… castle? Robb’s mind struggles to think clearly. Why was he in a castle? Where was everyone going? Question after question shoot rapid-fire through his conscious mind, but all of them are answered when he hears the shout.

 

“The King of the North is dead!” A soldier yells a few feet behind them, every other man in the hallway begins to cheer the same phrase over and over again. 

 

The sudden uproar echoes against the cramped walls, and Robb feels as if there are a million swords being stabbed into his head. It’s far too loud, and far too close. He thinks he understands now. To him, death had seemed forever, his body clock was all messed up and the only reason he could tell it was nighttime was because of the multitude of torches being carried. When he realizes that he’s still in the Twins, and that his death was in fact very recent, his legs almost buckle from his weight. He’s never felt so weak, but then again, he’s never died and come back either. 

 

Maybe he ought to feel mortified being under the roof of the man who’d murdered his mother, wife, and expected child, but Robb had already been broken before dying. He doesn’t know who this strange woman is, but there’s a likely chance she’s the one who saved him, especially since she’d been the first person he saw upon revival. He has a feeling, one he doesn’t know how to explain, that he’s the only one returning tonight. That thought incites next to nothing from him, but he’d said he was broken already hadn’t he?

 

When the realization hits him however, not that he’s just died (that hasn’t really sunk in yet), but that these soldiers are probably out there right now slaughtering his men in the droves, the familiar sense of wrath rises in him sharply. He’s reaching for his sword when he remembers he’s no longer dressed in his usual clothes, and the weapon that had been strapped to his waist in death- a weapon he hadn’t even soaked in blood before making his exit from the world- was glaringly absent. He may be a broken man, but he still feels the call of honor pulling him to save his men. The strange woman lays a hand on his arm where it’s frozen at his hip, and whispers close. 

 

“Please, my lord. What will come of your attempt in saving your army? You’ll only get both of us killed.”

 

Robb very nearly shouts at her, stopping himself just before the words leave his mouth. 

 

“I’ve died once already, I didn’t ask nor want to be revived. They killed my mother, they killed my wife and our child, they will not kill the men who have suffered these past few years at my side. They are here because I called the banners, but they stay because they believe in me. What I kind of king would I be if I let those who fight for me, die needlessly?” 

 

He goes to turn around, needing desperately to kill something, anything- preferably one of the soldiers cheering close by about his death- but the woman is stronger than she looks, and her grip tightens around his arm like iron. 

 

“They are going to die anyway. You want to save them but you can’t. The only thing you can do is avenge them. And you can’t do that dead. Do you honestly believe that if any of your banner-men knew you were alive again, they’d want you to die a second time trying to save them? The North remembers, the North is not stupid.”

 

“And you want me to just let them die? My brothers?!”

 

Her gaze doesn’t falter.

 

“What about your real brothers? And your sisters? How do you suppose they would feel about you getting yourself killed, on purpose? You are their eldest brother. They are going to realize everything that you have been to them, and your loss will cripple the family. You Starks are Northmen, my lord. You know the frigid cold and the harsh lives it forces you to lead, but you do not know the South. Make no mistake, that is what got you killed.”

 

“So I am to do nothing.” 

 

She sighs once, tiredly, before looking at him again. 

 

“Yes, you are to do nothing  _ now _ . You will do so much more in the future. You will help shape Westeros, but first you must live. And you must learn. You can do neither by charging at the closest soldier.”

 

Robb feels bone-tired when he sees the sense in her words. It is as if it has taken everything left in him to be angry, and, now that he forces that anger to dissipate, he feels as hollow as he would think a dead person to be. He does notice a sense of dread when a solder nears them, however. The armored man asks them just what it is they’re doing and the woman at his side lies effortlessly, a flirtatious smile gracing her face. It’s a completely different expression from the one she’d been sporting, and Robb is curious about how sudden, yet seamless, her change had been. She’s dressed like a whore, putting her attire to good use distracting the man from Robb. The soldier flirts back completely unsuspecting of the king, dressed as crone, in front of him. When he leaves, ‘to kill the savages of the North’- a comment Robb would like to castrate him for- the man smacks the strange woman’s ass once before jogging out to join the fight. She looks just how he feels, disgusted and more than a little irritated.

 

He’s opening his mouth to say something when he feels the cold dark encompassing him again, but not before pinpricks of pain at his neck make themselves known, and not before Robb registers the sight of his own blood on the hand he’d brought up to the moistness at his throat. His body sags, legs giving out from under him, and the God of Death welcomes the eldest Stark son once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped all of you liked it, although that is highly unlikely. This story is one that I really want to continue, and plan on continuing, but sometimes I get hit with writer's block and/or feel as if it doesn't matter whether or not I keep the story going, so a nice comment left behind will encourage me to do the opposite of that. And that way, you guys will probably receive a new chapter sooner. Kudos would also be extremely welcomed, but if you didn't like it, thanks for trying it anyway. I would like to say: Stick with me, the best parts have yet to come.


End file.
